(If) I interviewed Niklaus Mikaelson of The Vampire Diaries
by lesliewwrites
Summary: This is my very first attempt at writing fanfic. My initial plan for this piece was to do it like a magazine-feature-type story – a different approach to fan fiction. It still is, but I feel that it has evolved into something more of a characterisation piece. I threw in a few references there... can you spot them? Let me know what you think!


Sitting at a discreet booth in Mystic Fall's most popular bar, I noted with interest as yet another guy strolled in. Wearing a henley shirt paired with a pair of lived-in jeans and a black double-breasted overcoat, it'd be easy to miss the oldest and only Original vampire-werewolf hybrid if not for the conflicting mix of sass and charm, and primal deadliness he exuded. So the bar, with its not-too-dim lighting, not-too-loud music and not-too-exclusive patrons, seemed to be a safe and neutral place to meet the infamous Niklaus Mikaelson, better known as Klaus.

Klaus took his seat opposite me, raising his brows as he looked at my satchel before ordering a Scotch from the hovering waiter.

"I see you've brought along a little gift," Klaus said, gesturing to my bag.

"Depends on how you answer my questions," I said, hoping I wasn't pushing things too far.

"Depends on what questions are being asked, love," countered Klaus. "Let's begin, shall we?"

I took a deep breath and posed my first burning question, "Why did you agree to this interview?".

"Why did Louis talk to the boy?" he shrugged.

This was going to be harder than I thought. In the next minute, Klaus shot down my carefully prepared questions on his life and family in similar ways. It was evident that this thousand-year-old hybrid was well-read, quoting and referencing everyone from Aristotle to Lao Tzu to aid his evasiveness. Silence stretched as I scrambled to figure out what made him tick. I could literally feel his smirk even as he maintained his impassive expression, leaning back on his booth seat, his Scotch untouched. Desperate, I took a tentative foray into forbidden territory – his father. Klaus's demeanour turned lethal as he stared at me and whispered just one word, "Next". I finally caught my break when the subject of power and his evil reputation was raised. Apparently, Loquacious Klaus liked Evil Klaus.

He bragged about his influence over others in the past centuries with unreserved glee, talking about how his prowess garnered legions of followers who would jump to his whims and fancies. And how, when he grew tired of their fawning, he would "send them on their way". Few had the potential to aid his quest for domination, he said, but those who did would be bestowed with the gift of his blood. In a rare moment of insight in his soliloquy, he mentioned periods when he preferred to lay low, observing the currents of cultural changes or the chaos men chose to create for themselves. It was hard to put my finger on his rapid change of emotions, so I likely imagined that drop of dolefulness in Klaus's ocean of contempt.

"It's amusing, really, the justifications you humans come up with; this petty obsession with labels," he paused, before adding with a chuckle, "No matter. People say I'm evil because I _allow_ them to. Things get done when people fear you."

Needless to say, I was astounded when Klaus joked of how a thousand years of existence hadn't taught him any sort of patience at all. When the shock showed on my face, he asked if I've heard of a vampire called Geoffrey. When I replied no, he said "Precisely", as though that set everything straight.

What of love, then, I asked, pressing my advantage to his lighter mood. Although, I had to admit, it was hard to picture someone so egomaniacal being in love. I saw a flash of Klaus's dimpled smile before he replied enigmatically: "But love, my dear, is the greatest evil."

Before I could jump the gun to portray him as a rake capable of reform, or perhaps infer that, in his line of thinking, falling in love would aid his evil reputation, Klaus was quick to clarify his definition of the human emotion. "Love," he said, "is _the_ key to the door that is easy manipulation. Open it, and you'll see it's filled with endless masterless puppets. To feel is to fail."

So he had never "failed" then, in his sense of the word?

"I've had my fair share of beauties whose company I enjoy. Briefly. One of them was a princess..." he trailed off, closing his eyes as if reminiscing. I waited for him to elaborate, but just as I thought he seemed to be happy to leave it at that, he continued: "Beautiful girl, much like a certain feisty blonde I know..."

I cursed my luck when Adele chose this inopportune moment to sing Skyfall loudly – from Klaus's pocket. Klaus picked up the call, listened for mere seconds before hanging up without a word. I saw a flash of black from the corner of my eye and the next thing I knew, I was staring at an empty booth seat and a serviette with the neatly written words: "Thanks for the gift."

I reached for my bag, knowing with absolute certainty that the blood bag that I'd brought was gone – as with any chance of getting to know this "character" on a deeper level. For as sadistic and narcissistic as the "Original Hybrid" label is, I found myself struggling to deny that I felt an undercurrent of insecurity and vulnerability that control freaks tended to exhibit. But there it was, curiouser and curiouser, in the paradox that is Niklaus Mikaelson.

***I'm working on this piece of real fanfic too! I'm really excited and hope I can get out the first chapter soon!**

****I'm a major Klaroline shipper, in case you're wondering. I think the actors have crazy chemistry I cannot help but get sucked into this ship.**

*****I published this piece in my blog first. Not sure if this violates any FFN rules. I tried searching but couldn't find anything. Let me know if it is? THANKS SO MUCH!**


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